Chương 7
Her sister Leah was the obvious choice.
Leah always answered, even when she was angry.
Especially when she was angry.
But Mara already knew what Leah would say.
She would say that old places did not send letters.
People sent letters.
People lied.
People manipulated.
People used grief like a weapon.
Leah had become an expert on protecting Mara from things Mara did not ask to be protected from.
Mara put the phone back into her coat pocket.
The drive to West Alder took twenty minutes if traffic cooperated.
Traffic did not cooperate.
A delivery truck blocked one lane near the bridge, and a man in a pickup truck leaned on his horn as if volume could physically move vehicles.
Mara sat behind the wheel and watched the windshield wipers drag water back and forth.
She used to hate waiting.
Her old supervisor at the clinic used to joke that Mara could turn a five-minute delay into a personal insult.
Back then she would have argued.
Now she knew he had been right.
The strange part was that she missed that version of herself.
The woman who still believed problems could be solved by working harder.
The clinic building looked smaller than she remembered.
That bothered her more than seeing it abandoned.
The brick walls had always seemed enormous when she worked there, like the building itself carried the weight of every person who came through the doors.
Now the windows were covered with paper signs announcing redevelopment plans.
A chain-link fence surrounded the parking lot.
Mara parked across the street and stayed inside the car.
She watched a man in a gray jacket walk past the entrance.
He stopped.
He looked toward the building.
Then he looked directly at her car.
Mara lowered her head without thinking.
A minute later, she looked again.
The man was gone.
She waited another ten minutes before crossing the street.
The side entrance had a broken lock.
She knew that because she had fixed it twice when she worked there.
The first time, the landlord promised to replace the entire door.
The second time, he promised to replace the landlord.
Neither happened.
Mara pushed it open.
The smell inside was wrong.
Old buildings had their own memories.
Dust.
Wood.
Cleaning chemicals.
This place smelled like wet cardboard and something metallic.
She stepped carefully through the hallway.
The posters on the walls were gone, but the faded rectangles where they had hung remained.
A children's drawing was still taped beside the reception window.
It showed a family standing beside a house with a purple sun above it.
Someone had written thank you on the bottom in uneven letters.
Mara touched the edge of the paper but did not remove it.
She had learned that taking something from a place where people suffered could feel like stealing.
The storage room was locked.
That surprised her.
Almost everything else had been left open.
She stared at the handle.
Then she remembered the photograph.
Her old desk.
Her old chair.
Her old mug.
She searched the hallway until she found a loose metal ruler on the floor.
It took her several minutes to force the door open.
The room was dark.
The desk was still there.
The chair was still there.
The mug was still there.
But someone had moved everything else.
Folders were missing from shelves.
Boxes had been opened and emptied.
The old computer monitor sat on the desk without the computer tower.
Mara stepped closer.
Her name was carved into the wood near the edge.
She had forgotten doing that.
It had happened during a late night when she was frustrated after losing a grant application.
She had dragged the tip of a pen across the surface until she noticed the mark.
A stupid little act.
A private tantrum.
A piece of herself she had accidentally left behind.
The mug was upside down.
That was wrong.
She always placed it right side up.
Always.
She picked it up.
Something rattled inside.
Mara froze.
The bottom had been repaired.
Not professionally.
Someone had glued it back together.
She turned it over and found a small plastic memory card taped beneath it.
For several seconds she simply stared.
The clinic had closed because of a financial investigation.
That was the official story.
The owner had been accused of misusing funds.
Records had been reviewed.
Employees had been questioned.
Mara had testified.
Then she had walked away.
She had spent six years telling herself she had done everything possible.
The memory card felt like proof that maybe she had not.
A noise came from the hallway.
Mara shoved the card into her pocket.
She turned off the flashlight on her phone.
Footsteps moved slowly outside the door.
Not someone exploring.
Someone searching.
She held her breath.
The footsteps stopped.
"Mara?"
Her body reacted before her mind did.
She recognized the voice.
It belonged to Daniel Price.
Her former coworker.
The man who had disappeared three days before the clinic investigation became public.
The man who everyone assumed had run because he was guilty.
The man who had never once contacted her.
Mara stepped into the doorway.
Daniel looked older than she remembered.
His hair had gone almost completely gray.
His jacket was wet from the rain.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then Daniel looked at the mug in her hand.
"You found it."
Mara tightened her grip.
"You sent the letter."
Daniel glanced down the hallway.
"Keep your voice down."
"You sent me into an abandoned building because you wanted me to find a memory card?"
"No."
His answer came too quickly.
Mara noticed.
Daniel noticed her noticing.
"I wanted you to understand why I couldn't come back."
"That doesn't answer anything."
"It answers more than you think."
She laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
"Six years, Daniel."
"I know."
"You vanished."
"I know."
"Everyone thought you were responsible."
May you like
"I know that too."
The silence between them felt heavier than the years.
